Painting the Strip Red
by atomicfox
Summary: Cass and the Courier go out for a night on the town.


**A/N: **I wrote this at like 1am so I'm sorry if there are any grammatical/spelling errors. I'll fix them if I catch them.

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><p>The elevator chimed out a <em>ding<em> as the doors opened, and Arcade stepped out into the suite. He cocked his head to listen for signs of life over the constant whirring of the elevator shaft before catching the faint voices coming from the kitchen.

He found the Courier bent over in front of the open refrigerator that housed their respectable collection of booze and special variations of Nuka-Cola.

"Scotch, scotch, scotch," the girl mumbled to herself. "I _know_ it's in here somewhere."

Arcade silently reached over her bent form and tapped at the bottles of scotch that sat in the door of the fridge, rattling them against each other. The Courier jumped and whirled around, staring him down with wide eyes. Once she realized it was him, she let out a breath and placed her hand over her chest as if willing her heart to slow down.

"Make some damn _noise_ next time," she scolded with a small grin. She punched him lightly on the arm. "Sneaking up on a girl like that."

He smirked. "I thought the _elevator_ would be enough of a warning."

"Y'know," Cass drawled from her seat at the kitchen table, "for someone who essentially has an entire war waiting on her, you're pretty jumpy."

"Hey," the Courier said, waving a finger at the older woman. "Shut up." She grabbed two bottles of scotch from the door with one hand (not without sticking her tongue out at Arcade) and the two bottles of vodka that were on the counter with the other. She used the crook of her elbow to grip the two highball glasses she'd already set out. The top glass was filled with barrel cactus fruits. Arcade raised a brow at the unfamiliar setup, but said nothing.

"What did you need, Arcade?" the Courier asked as she set it all down on the table. Cass took the liberty of reaching for the bottles and glasses and began fixing up the drinks.

"I was just wondering if we could spare any medical supplies," he told her, watching Cass as she used a combat knife to cut the fruits in halves. She handed the fruit and the knife to the Courier before opening a bottle of scotch and pouring some into each glass.

"What, like RadAway and Med-X, or like surgical equipment?" the Courier asked. She took the cactus fruit and pressed the knife hard against the exposed flesh to squeeze as much of the juices out before repeating the process with the second glass. Once the halves were drained and tossed aside, Cass topped both glasses off with vodka.

"Uh, both, I suppose," the doctor answered, watching, intrigued, as Cass reached for an unmarked bottle to her right. She added some of the liquid to what little space remained in both glasses with a flourish.

The Courier nodded slowly. "Yeah. We've got plenty, in that trunk over there." She looked up at him. "Followers?"

"Followers," he confirmed. "I took Veronica to the Mormon Fort to learn a little about what the Followers do, but they're short on supplies."

"Of course they are," she muttered tiredly, brushing her bangs behind her ear. Arcade had noticed that she frequently messed with her long hair whenever she was stressed or thinking, but she never moved the section of hair that covered the vicious scar on her forehead. He tactfully never mentioned it.

"Hey," Cass intervened, "None of that serious shit right now." She handed the Courier her glass and picked the other one up for herself, offering it up in an expectant toast with a coyly raised brow. "First one to pass out loses, remember?"

"It's a bet," the Courier agreed, tapping her glass against Cass' with a _clink_. They both took a deep swig of the drink, the Courier wincing slightly more than Cass at the burn of the alcohol down her throat.

Arcade glanced between them. "What's going on here?" he asked warily. The Courier pointed at Cass as she eagerly downed another gulp of the drink. Cass rolled her eyes at the younger woman.

"We're going out for a little night on the town later," the caravanner explained with a smirk.

"But with_ heavy _amounts of booze in us, first," the Courier added with a rasp. She cleared her throat before continuing. "We made a bet over who could last longer."

Arcade stared at the two of them with a blank expression, considering whether or not he would tell them just how awful the idea sounded. He decided that they probably already knew it, so he simply shrugged and said, "I'll match whatever the wager is, put my money on Cass."

The Courier gasped indignantly at the doctor. Cass laughed.

"Smart man," she said, her words muffled by her already nearly empty glass.

"I know," he replied smoothly. He gave the Courier a comforting pat on the back in response to her pout. "Anyway, I'm not entirely sure how long it'll be, but we probably won't be back until very early in the morning."

Cass raised her glass to him. "Hopefully, neither will we."

* * *

><p>"Alright, take a seat and roll up your sleeve while I get a first aid kit," Arcade tiredly told Veronica, gesturing towards the corner table in the rec room of the suite. They'd gotten back from Freeside at around 3:30 in the morning, and he was downright exhausted.<p>

As he sorted through their stash of medical supplies – stored in a metal trunk in the kitchen – he heard the rumble of the elevator arriving to the floor.

"You two were out for quite some time," he called. In lieu of a response was the rolling sound of rubber tread. He looked up to see a Securitron watching him through the doorway. He tried not to shudder at the militant face flickering on the screen and stood.

"Uh…can I help you?"

"Your assistance is required at the entrance of the casino," was all the robot reported in its tinny voice before it rolled away. Arcade slowly walked out after it, meeting Veronica's questioning gaze from where she stood in the doorway of the rec room. The Securitrons inside the casino never spoke to anyone but the Courier.

"You stay here," he told her quietly, "Go ahead and begin sterilizing the wound; I'll be back in a minute."

Much to Arcade's dismay, the Securitron silently escorted him into the elevator. From the corner of his eye, he watched its metal claws twist and whir, and wondered briefly about what the upgrade the Courier and House had given the robots truly did. When the elevator doors opened, he hurried out into the casino's main floor ahead of the Securitron only to be met with two more guarding the entrance. They each gripped a door handle and simultaneously opened the large doors for him. He felt important, for a moment, before he realized it was undoubtedly part of House's programming to make going to and from the casino a flourish.

"What," he said once he stepped out. On the steps of the Lucky 38 were two unhappy MPs and a Securitron.

In the Securitron's metal arms was a very unconscious Courier.

"Hand her over," one of the MPs grumbled to the robot. It proceeded to unceremoniously dump the girl's limp body into Arcade's arms, making him scramble to catch her before she fell. He cradled her against his chest and checked to see if she'd woken up. She didn't move, but the fact that she was indeed breathing was enough for him.

"What happened?" he asked hesitantly, shifting his gaze from her face to the two MPs.

"She was causing a public disturbance," the man answered. Arcade looked down at the body in his arms again, looking the girl over.

"There are minor burns on her abdomen," he noted neutrally. He recognized them from what he'd seen on a few gamblers that had been kicked out of the Strip and sought medical attention from the Followers.

"She wouldn't comply," the MP defended.

"So you _burned_ her with a _cattle prod_?" Arcade asked incredulously, voice beginning to rise. "What in the _world_ could she have done to have warranted that?"

"She sold tire irons to intoxicated couples under the guise of being 'marital aids', started a small fire in a planter using alcohol, encouraged several intoxicated NCR soldiers to dance with her in the Ultra-Luxe fountain, handcuffed a Securitron to a fence, and vandalized the monorail," the woman reported matter-of-factly. Her voice had a hint of exasperation, and Arcade allowed himself to feel sympathy for her when he noticed her distinct lack of a cattle prod. He decided that she was the more reasonable of the two MPs.

"Well, shit," was all he could say in response. He looked down at the Courier's body again and wondered, not without some amusement, how such a small girl could cause so much trouble.

"Yes," the woman drawled. "We finally had to stop her when she got into a verbal and physical altercation with the Tops crier over his material that she seemed to have misinterpreted as direct insults."

"When she didn't comply with our attempts to subdue her, I followed protocol," the man said somewhat smugly, tapping the handle of his holstered cattle prod. Arcade narrowed his eyes.

"She's a _5'4"_, unarmed, _heavily_ intoxicated young woman," Arcade insisted, even holding her body out to the MP as proof. "Surely your _protocol_ was a bit excessive and unnecessary."

"Yeah, well, she packs one hell of a fucking punch," the MP hissed, turning his head to the side. On his jaw was a wide, angry welt that was already beginning to show signs of bruising. Arcade fought the urge to snicker at the injury. Even the other MP looked somewhat satisfied with the damage done to her fellow soldier, despite the trouble caused for her by the Courier.

"She certainly does," the doctor mused. "Well, thank you for bringing her. I'll make sure this doesn't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," the man spat back before turning away. Arcade and the woman shared a moment of sympathy for the other before she moved to follow after him.

"Wait!" Arcade called once a thought occurred to his tired mind. The woman turned and looked at him quizzically. "Was there another woman with her?"

The MP frowned thoughtfully. "No, I don't believe there was," she muttered. At his suspicious but dismissive nod, she left.

He sighed down at the unconscious girl in his arms and took her inside the protective walls of the Lucky 38.

After he stripped the Courier down to her grey undershorts and red blouse, Arcade tucked her into bed. As a second thought, he gave her a shot of Med-X and left an extra shot on her bedside table next to two chilled bottles of water. He left some Fixer, too, as a precaution. He stood in the doorway to her bedroom for a moment and shook his head knowingly at her sleeping form before he shut the lights off and closed the door.

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><p>Cass staggered into the suite at around 4am. Or something. She wasn't sure. She was drunk as all hell, and damn content about it.<p>

She heard voices in the rec room and walked over, slumping against the doorframe. At the corner table sat Arcade and Veronica, with the doctor carefully stitching a gash along the girl's forearm.

"I was jumped," Veronica announced upon seeing the older woman.

"That's a pretty fuckin' weird thing to be grinnin' about."

"Kicking the crap out of three thugs and coming out of it with only a few bruises and a scratch is the kind of thing I pride myself on," the girl responded happily, lifting her head high.

Arcade sighed and glanced up at Cass. "She went through Freeside alone and without a gun while I was helping a patient. At _night_," he explained. Cass clicked her tongue.

"Rookie mistake," she slurred with a shake of her head.

"Tell that to the guys with the smashed-in faces that I wiped the pavement with," Veronica defended with a wider grin.

"Sure," Arcade said with a small smile. There were times when he couldn't tell if the Courier had influenced Veronica or Veronica influenced the Courier, or if the two were just naturally similar in attitude. He glanced up at Cass again. "Missing something?"

The caravanner frowned. "Don't think so."

"You sure?"

She shut her eyes hard, trying to think beyond the wall of alcohol in her system. When she opened them, she had a hard time not just closing them again. She was so fucking tired. "Yep."

"There's an unconscious girl in the next room over that says otherwise," Arcade said with an arched brow. It took a few seconds for Cass' eyes to go wide.

"_Ohhhhh_," she laughed, "Oh yeah. Good thing you found her. She lost the bet, that bitch owes me 200 caps." She started to close her eyes again.

"_Found_ her?" he exclaimed. "She was brought to the damn _doorstep_ by the _military police_! Where the hell were _you?_"

"Listen, I was with her up until she swindled the Ultra-Luxe out of 15,000 caps. One minute she was with me, next minute – _poof!_ – she was gone. Like a crazy magic trick."

"And you didn't bother, I don't know, _looking for her?_"

"Hey, I swear I looked for like _five _minutes," she slurred. "I got _bored_, so I went to Gomorrah. They have got some _fine_ men there, I'll tell you what. Pretty sure I almost convinced one to take me to his room for _free_."

"Unbelievable," Arcade mumbled, giving up on arguing with the drunken caravanner in favor of returning his attention to stitching up the Brotherhood girl.

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><p>The next day, out of pure curiosity, Arcade went to the Las Vegas Boulevard Station. He got there just in time to see a group of disgruntled NCR troopers begin scrubbing away at the bright red paint on the body of the monorail that read, "COURIER SIX RULEZ".<p>

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><p><strong>AN: **By the way, the drink from the beginning (minus Cass' secret ingredient) is called a King of Poland. The more you know.


End file.
